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The Baby 



V 



THE BABY 




«i» 



A FARCE IN ONE ACT 



BY 



CLAUDE C. WASHBURN 



<$» 



Duluth, Minn. 

Huntley Printing Co. 

1909 



Forty-nine copies printed from type and 
the type distributed 



[Copyright applied for 1909] 



P5 354-5 

• ^ 754-B3 



©01.0 17834<^ 



THE BABY 

As presented at 

Burnithfeldy Friday^ August 6, 1909 



CHARACTERS. 

The Honorable H. Greeley Peckham 

Mr. Claude C Washburn 

Helen Peckham (His wife) Miss Madeline Miller 

Parsley Peckham (Their oldest daughter) 

Miss Bess. Whipple 

Green-Peas Peckham (Their second daughter) 

Miss Susan Stryker 

Asparagus Peckham (Their third daughter) 

Miss Esther Coffin 

Squash Peckham (Their fourth daughter) 

Miss Mildred Washburn 

Aunt Matilda Miss Maude Matteson 

Jenny (Maid) Miss Kathryn Denfeld 



Stage Manager Miss Ramona Hoopes 



THE BABY 



SCENE. 

Living room in the Peckham home. Doors 
r. and 1. A staircase r. c. leading up. In the 
centre at the rear a French window. To the left 
of this a large round table, strewn with books and 
magazines. To the right of the stage in the fore- 
ground, a sofa. There are chairs here and there. 
When the curtain rises the stage is vacant. Then 
Helen enters by the stairs. She has her sewing 
in her hand. 

HELEN, {turning about at the foot of the 
stairs and calling up.) Asparagus, is the guest- 
room ready for Aunt Matilda? She'll be here 
very soon. 

VOICE OF ASPARAGUS, (upstairs.) Yes, 
mother. 

HELEN. Don't forget to watch the baby, 
dear. 

ASPARAGUS. No, mother. (Helen crosses 
left and sits down by the table. Taking up her 
sewings she makes a stitch or two, looks ahead of 
her, then pauses.) 

HELEN. Oh no, 1 can't! I iust can't have 
it! That little fellow, — why, it would ruin his 
whole life! {Looks at her sewing for a moment y 
then picks it up again, as Peckham enters, right, 
from the wings. He carries a manuscript in his 



hand and walks slowly back and forth, apparently 
reciting a speech under his breath, and making 
pompous gestures. Occasionally he says fragments 
aloud. 

PECKHAM. On so sublime an occasion as 

this. .__eternal gratitude intense loyalty 

watchfulness over the interests of all {making a 
gesture) No, that won't do. {changing his gesture) 
Watchfulness over the interests of all, {shaking his 
head and trying another gesture) watchfulness over 
the interests of all. {satisfied.) Better, much 
better. {Voices heard laughing and chattering up 
stairs. Peckham looks up in annoyance. Helen 
turns quickly toward the stairs.) 

HELEN. Pars— ley! 

PARSLEY, (upstairs. ) Yes, mother. 

HELEN. Don't make so much noise, please. 
Father's rehearsing his speech. 

PARSLEY. All right, mother. 

HELEN, {to Peckham.) Is it getting on 
well, dear? 

PECKHAM. Pretty well! Pretty well! The 
great difficulty is to make it appear impromptu. 
A speech one makes on hearing of his election 
must of course have an off-hand unstudied air. 

HELEN. Have you prepared one to say in 
case you're defeated? 

PECKHAM. {withpride.) I've written it so 
that I can use the same one — only past tense 
instead of future, you know. 

HELEN. I'm sure it will be lovely either 
way. 1 think your speeches are— are - noble. 

PECKHAM. {swelling.) Thank you, my 



dear. People have said so. {listening and going 
to window.) Ah, what's that? 

HELEN. It's the milk wagon going by. 

PECKHAM. Ah, I thought it might be some 
of my constituents cheering me. Their enthusiam 
carries them away at times. (He sits down, right.) 

HELEN, {looking up at him over her sew- 
ing.) I sometimes almost wish you would be 
defeated, so we could have you more to ourselves. 
You're always so busy now. 

PECKHAM. Ah, my dear, no one would like 
that better than I — to live quiet, retired and happy 
just with you and the children, but we must think 
of others. Duty often interferes with what we 
should like best to do. 1 have a responsibility 
toward the world, Helen, that I cannot shirk. 
No one -I say it humbly- no one else, I fear, 
could represent Cabbage Centre honestly and 
fearlessly in the legislature. 

HELEN. Oh yes, I know. It's awfully 
selfish of me. I'm sorry I said it. But women 
can't be noble like men. You're so self-sacrificing, 
Greeley. 

PECKHAM. {immensely flattered.) Thank 
you, my dear, thank you. Nothing is sweeter to 
any well regulated man than praise from the wife 
with whom he has lived for twenty-two years. It 
comes to me, Helen, that it's a long time since 
you've had a present. Isn't there anything you'd 
like — a jewel — a ring — 

HELEN. {jumping up and running to him, 
throws herself on her knees beside his chair and 
puts her hands on his shoulders.) Oh, Greeley, 



there is something— not a present— only a favor! 

PECKHAM. If it's anything within my 
power to do for you, I'll do it. 

HELEN. {slowly.) Oh thank you, dear. 
It's just about the baby, (pleadingly.) Oh, please, 
let's name it John! 

PECKHAM. {sternly.) Anything— but that. 

HELEN. You said anything, 

PECKHAM. Anything within reason, I 
meant. {She withdraws her arms. He rises and 
walks restlessly back and forth. She remains 
kneeling by the chair.) You know my principles. 
My father was a farmer and his father and grand- 
father before him were farmers, I myself do 
not happen to be a farmer— 

HELEN. Thank heaven! 

PECKHAM. But had it not been for the 
greater talents vouchsafed me, and — and for your 
Uncle John's money - I might have been. 

HELEN. Dear Uncle John, how I loved him! 

PECKHAM. When he died. 

HELEN. Yes, especially then. 

PECKHAM. Moreover, I represent an 
agricultural community in the legislature. In 
short, I owe it to my ancestors, my constituents, 
and myself to give my children agricultural 
names. 

HELEN. {going to him and catching his 
arm.) Oh but you've carried it far enough, 
Greeley. Your duty is surely ended. 

PECKHAM. {detaching himself.) One's 
duty never ends. 

HELEN, {throwing herself into the chair by 

8 



the table and burying her head in her hands.) I 
don't care, I just can't stand it; I can't! When 
you named our first child Parsley, I submitted; 
when you named our second Green-Peas and our 
third Asparagus, I bore it; even when you insisted 
on caUing our fourth Squash, I was silent — 

PECKHAM. You were what? 

HELEN. {looking up fiercely.) I was 
silent! 

PECKHAM. It was a — a loquacious silence. 

HELEN. {hiding her head again and sob- 
bing.) But when it comes to naming our littlest, 
our only son— Potato Bug, I just can't stand it — 
I c — c — can't! 

PECKHAM. But why? 

HELEN, (fiercely.) Why? It would ruin 
his whole life. A name like that, and he's such 
a little fellow! 

PECKHAM. He'll grow bigger. Potato B. 
Peckham on a calling card or, better still, P. Bug 
Peckham, is a name anyone might be proud to 
bear. Moreover, I'm pledged. I announced to 
my constituents my intention of so naming our 
son, and they greeted the announcement with 
cheers prolonged cheers. 

HELEN, {sobbing.) They ought to have 
greeted it with p — paris green! 

PECKHAM. I'm sorry you take the mat- 
ter so much to heart, but in this one case I must 
be firm. My honor is at stake. The baby shall 
be christened tomorrow. {He goes out, left. Helen 
continues to sit sobbing at the table. After a 
moment enter Jenny, right.) 



JENNY. If you please, mum— Miss Matilda's 
here. 

HELEN. {looking up quickly and wiping 
her eyes.) Oh, show her right in, Jenny. 

JENNY. Yes'm. {Exit Jenny. Helen sniffs 
a little, takes a hand-glass from the table, arranges 
her hair, and puts a dab of powder on her eyes. 
Re-enter Jenny carrying suit case. Matilda, type 
of kindly, bespectacled, common-sense old maid, 
follows.) 

HELEN, {rushing to Matilda and embracing 
her.) Well, Matilda, you dear old thing, I'm so 
glad to see you! 

MATILDA, {patting Helen's cheeks.) It's 
good to see you again, my dear. What's this? 
{taking Helen's chin in her hand and looking at her 
sharply.) Helen, you've been crying. {Helen 
shakes her head.) Don't you fib to me. What 
do you think I've been studying psychology for 
all this time at Columbia if I can't read as simple 
thoughts as yours? You've been crying. {Helen 
nods her head.) What's the matter? 

HELEN, {shaking her head.) Nothing. 

MATILDA. You mean you won't tell. I 
suppose your husband's been abusing you. 

HELEN, {angrily.) Abusing me! Greeley! 
You ought to be ashamed, Matilda. 

MATILDA. {patting her arm.) Br-r-r! 
What a little spitfire! Oh well, keep your secret. 
Is this your new maid? {to Jenny.) What's 
your name? Petunia? 

JENNY. No'm, it's Jenny, mum. 

MATILDA. Is that all? {to Helen.) I 

10 



supposed it would be something more agricultur- 
al. 

HELEN, (wearily.) No, I chose one with 
a simple name. 

MATILDA. Well, I think you were sensible. 
It must be rather wearing to be entirely surround- 
ed by vegetables. I always thought Greeley car- 
ried his principles too far in naming his children. 

HELEN, (with dignity.) I won't have you 
censure my husband. Greeley had a perfect 
right to give his children any names he chose, 
and I think he chose very well. I am — I am 
quite satisfied with my children's names. 

MATILDA. You're what? 

HELEN, (fiercely, but not looking at her.) 
Entirely satisfied. 

MATILDA, Oh these wives! These wives! 
See what marriage brings them, — subservience, 
loss of personality, hypocrisy, dissimulation! 
Thank heaven, I never married. I can at least 
keep my honesty untarnished and my judgment 
unbiased, (to Jenny.) Jenny, have you a sweet- 
heart? 

JENNY, (after a series of confused gurglings. ) 
Yes'm, 

MATILDA. You throw him over. 

JENNY. Oh, I couldn't do that, mum! He's 
a butcher's apprentice! 

MATILDA. Of course that's an unanswer- 
able reason for keeping him. Meanwhile show 
me to my room. 

JENNY. He's a butcher's apprentice, mum. 

HELEN, (laughing.) Come along, you old 

11 



fraud, you're more of a hypocrite than I am. 

{They start towards the stairs. As they almost 

reach them the four girls come rushing down.) 

/• Oh, Aunt Matilda! 
j We're so glad to see you! 
THE GIRLS. < How are you, you old dear? 

I I'm so glad! {They all embrace 
V her.) 

MATILDA, {releasing herself and gasping.) 

There, there, girls! Remember I'm a feeble old 

woman. {The girls laugh and protest.) Just 

wait till I've gone to my room and straightened 

up a bit and I'll be right down. 

j All right. Auntie. 
THE GIRLS. |j3Q^,^^^gjQ^g^^^^j^^jg (^^^,j 

HELEN, {to Matilda as they go upstairs.) 
Now what do you say to marriage? 

MATILDA. Oh, I'll be honest about it; it 
has its compensations. 

JENNY, {following them, muttering.) He's 
a butcher's apprentice. {The girls sit down, 
Squash throwing herself on the floor, the others 
taking relaxed attitudes elsewhere.) 

ASPARAGUS. Isn't auntie a dear, girls? 
j I should think so! 

THE OTHERS.^ ^^^ certainly is! {etc.) 

SQUASH. You bet! 

ASPARAGUS. There's one thing, though, 
that makes me sorry when anyone comes to see 
us, even Aunt Matilda. 

PARSLEY. What's that. Three? 

ASPARAGUS. Well, I'll tell you. Pars— ley. 
{Parsley swiftly takes a sofa pillow and throws it 
at her. She ducks.) 

12 



PARSLEY, {picking up another pillow.) If 
you dare call me that! 

ASPARAGUS. Well, that's the reason, 
One. You see when anyone comes to visit us, 
they're sure to call us by our names. Ugh! 

THE OTHERS. ]^'^'jp3 3^, 

SQUASH. Yes, darn 'em! 

PARSLEY, (reflectively.) Auntie's a good 
sport, though. We could easily train her to call 
us by our numbers the Vv ay we do ourselves. 

GREEN -PEAS, (giggling.) Won't she be 
furious when she hears about the baby's name? 

SQUASH, (poking her finger at an imagi- 
nary baby and gurgling.) Well, oo's a sweet 
'ittle potato buggums. 

ASPARAGUS. Oh, well, it's no worse a 
name than mine, (sweetly, and turning her eyes 
toward the ceiling.) A-spar-a-gus! Can't you 
just imagine that gem on a lover's lips! (imitating 
a man^s voice.) Mayn't I call you by your first 
name— Asparagus! Oh, I'm doomed to a single 
life, girls! No man could stand for that name. 

PARSLEY. Mine's just as bad. And I 
travelled all over Europe with it too. Registered 
honestly everywhere, even at The Carlton in 
London, — Miss Parsley Peckham, Cabbage 
Centre, Kansas! 

SQUASH. You're all of you lucky compared 
to me. What's Asparagus or Parsley or even 
Green-Peas to Squash? That's me — Squash! 
Not Hubbard Squash or Summer Squash, but 
just plain Squash. 

13 



PARSLEY. Oh, be quiet, Four, and be 
grateful for what you haven't got. You know it 
was by the merest squeak that you escaped being 
called Onion. 

SQUASH, (singing.) I'd rather be Onion 

than Squash; 
I'd rather be dirty 

than wash; 
I'd rather tomatoes 
and Irish potatoes 

Were 

( Sh— 
THE OTHERS. - Shut up! 

( Here's Auntie. {Enter 

Matilda by the stairs. The girls get up, welcoming 
her and drawing a chair forward.) 

MATILDA. Girls, what is the matter with 
your mother? She's been crying, and she's not 
herself, and she'll tell me nothing. 

PARSLEY, {calmly.) The baby. 

MATILDA, {frightened.) But what's the 
matter with the baby? I saw him just now and 
he looked entirely healthy. He even made a 
face at me when he saw me, — which is the normal 
thing for any masculine creature to do. He isn't 
sick, — or going to be? 

ASPARAGUS. {sweetly.) No, auntie, he 
isn't going to be sick, he's going to be christened. 

MATILDA, {drawing herself up and setting 
her teeth.) Oh-h-h! And what is his precious 
name to be? {Dead silence while the girls look 
from one to another.) 

SQUASH. {at last.) In union there is 

14 



strength, girls. Now then, all together, one, two, 
three — 

ALL FOUR. Potato Bug!! {Aunt Ma- 
tilda collapses weakly into the chair. She hides 
her face in her hands. In the silence that follows, 
Helen descends the stairs.) 

HELEN. What in the world is the matter? 
{She stands looking at them.) 

PARSLEY. {solemnly.) Aunt Matilda's 
just heard about the baby's name. Naturally it 
was something of a shock to her. She's a bit 
perturbed. 

SQUASH. Not to say flabbergasted. 

M AT I L D A . (s uddenly rising and spreading 

out her hands.) I have an idea. 

( Way for Aunt Matilda's idea! 
THE GIRLS. ] Silence! 
( Peace! 

MATILDA. Girls, do you want the baby 
christened Potato Bug? 

THE GIRLS. No! 

MATILDA. Very well. The baby shall be 
christened John, and your names shall be changed. 

THE GIRLS. What? {Helen looks on half 
frightened.) 

MATILDA. Parsley, what name do you 
want? 

PARSLEY. Something simple! Oh,— Jane. 

MATILDA. Jane you shall be; — Green-Peas? 

GREEN-PEAS. Mary. 

MATILDA. Mary you shall be; — Asparagus? 

ASPARAGUS. Ruth. 

MATILDA... Good; and Squash? 

15 



SQUASH. {In ecstasy.) Carrie! 

HELEN, {stiffening.) Matilda, I forbid 
you! Girls, I forbid you absolutely. Your father 
chose your names and you must — 

MATILDA. Helen, be still. {Helen subsides. 
To the girls.) It will be necessary to— to take 
your father in somewhat. 

SQUASH, {gleefully.) Oh, that'll be easy! 
He's always being taken in. 

HELEN. Matilda, I'm shocked at your put- 
ting such notions in their heads, and Squash you 
ought to be ashamed of yourself. When I was a 
girl children did'nt permit themselves to criticise 
their parents. 

MATILDA. When we were girls children 
spoiled their parents. Nowadays they know 
better. Remember that criticism begins at home, 
and that there is no parent so lost but that the 
watchful care and good advice of his children 
may yet save him. [Helen, bewildered, goes and 
sits down by the table.) 

ASPARAGUS. {at the window.) Sh!— 
There's father now. He's coming in. 

MATILDA. Then come into the library 
with me, and I'll explain the plot. {They go out 
right. Helen, left alone, looks after them, then 
calls -Ma.ti\d3il — half rising, butgettingno answer, 
sits down again, as her husband comes in, left. He 
carries a bundle of papers, goes to table and sits 
down.) 

HELEN. Well, dear, have you any news 
of the election? 

PECK HAM, (without looking up.) The 

16 



poll^ are closed and they are counting the votes. 
We should have the first returns before long. I 
am calm, Helen, quite calm. 

HELEN. Did you know that Matilda 
had arrived? 

PECKHAM. Ah! I shall be glad to see Ma- 
tilda. Where is she? 

HELEN. In the Hbrary, I think, but she'll 
be in soon. 

PECKHAM. I have a little revising to do 
on this article for the Cabbage Centre Chronicle, 
- you don't mind? 

HELEN. Go ahead and work, dear; I won't 
disturb you. {Silence for a few minutes^ then 
enter Matilda carrying a book in her hand.) 

MATILDA. How do you do, Greeley? 

PECKHAM. {rising.) Ah, Matilda, I am 
happy to see you. I hope you will make us a 
long visit. 

MATILDA. Now that's kind of you, Greeley. 
Go right on working; I see you're busy. Oh, 
will it disturb you if I read quietly a few para- 
graphs of this book to Helen? We were talking 
of the subject a little while ago, and I promised 
to show her what Von Weiss says about it. 

HELEN. Why-what- 

MATILDA. {aside to her.) Sh! 

PECKHAM. {turning back to his work.) Not 
at all. Nothing disturbs me when I work, Ma- 
tilda. Once I concentrate my mind on a subject, 
I should not hear a thunder storm. 

MATILDA, {dryly.) That's good. {She 
and Helen sit down on sofa, right.) There is 

17 



nothing very original about Von Weiss, but one 
can always be sure that when he announces a 
fact it is the concensus of the best opinion. 
Where is that place? Oh yes — {reads.) "The 
Influence of Names on Personality." {casting a 
glance at Peckham.) "The Influence of Names 
on Personality." {He stops writing for an instant, 
then continues. She reads.) "No theory in the 
field of psychclogical research has been more 
thoroughly substantiated by data than the in- 
fluence of names on personality, {she pauses) of 
names on personality. Innumerable experiments 
have been made with animals, particularly frogs. 
Those frogs that were in the beginning christened 
Muriel or Gladys invariably grew up effeminate 
and capricious, whereas those named John or 
Edward were masculine and virile. With cats 
also the results have been universally similar. 
Those called Horace or Cicero have at maturity 
shown themselves the intellectual superiors of 
those named Tony or Eleanor. {Growing 
attention of Peckham.) If, then, this is true of 
brute beasts, how much more strikingly so must 
it be in the case of complex human beings, whose 
span of life, moreover, is so much longer." 

HELEN, {low, in fright.) Is that really 
there? 

MATILDA, {low.) Of course not, goosie! 
{continues reading.) "Many experiments have 
been tried and the unanimity of the results ob- 
tained must convince any thinking man that the 
name given a child by his parents becomes one 
of the most potent factors in his development." 

18 



PECKHAM. (suddenly swinging around.) 
Nonsense! 

MATILDA. Oh, did you hear, Greely? 
I'm sorry if I've disturbed you. But it isn't non- 
sense, you know. Some years ago when the 
theory was first advanced, psychologists met it 
with skepticism, but nowadays it's accepted by 
every one. Even Von Weiss, from whom I am 
reading, credits it utterly, and he is the carefullest 
of the careful. You've heard of Von Weiss, of 
course? 

PECKHAM. Of course! Of course! 

MATILDA, (aside.) I haven't. 

PECKHAM. Nevertheless I should have 
grave doubts on the subject. For example, take 
a case — take my own household. Here are four 
girls with — I say it proudly— distinctive names — 
quite unusual names in fact, yet they are normal 
girls with no peculiarities about them. 

MATILDA. Of course not yet; but they 
will have. Listen to the paragraph that follows. 
(She reads.) "It is rare that the influence of 
names on human beings is visible before their 
twenty-fifth year. In certain cases, it is true, 
such as that of Gehenna Jones— see the Hibbart 
Journal for December, 1903, — results begin to 
appear earlier — but ordinarily they are not dis- 
cernible before the twenty-fifth or twenty-sixth 
year. After that time, however, they grow with 
amazing rapidity." 

PECKHAM. (relieved.) Well, in that case we 
still have some years ahead of us before we need 
expect any results from our daughters' names. 



Moreover, Matilda, I repeat that in spite of Von 
Weiss's undoubted eminence as a psychologist, I 
doubt, I most gravely doubt, the truth of his 
theory. At any rate I am quite tranquil. Nothing 
but good could ever come of such names as 
Asparagus or Green- Peas. 

MATILDA. There is a method, however, 
by the use of which the future influence of names 
on personality can be foretold. {She turns the 
pages.) 

PECKHAM. So! Is there indeed? 

MATILDA. Let me see. "Names and 
Character," "Names and Evolution", "Names 
and Love." Oh, here it is! "Names and Hyp- 
notism" {glancing along) — ''A newly discovered 
method, due, in its inception at least, to the great 
Jewish psychologist Iszky, for ascertaining in 
some measure the future influence of names on 
persons as yet immature, is the application of 
hypnotism. Subjects as young as eighteen or 
nineteen will, when in the hypnotic state, act in 
some measure in the fashion that later the in- 
fluence of their names will make habitual. 

PECKHAM. Really! This is most remark- 
able. However, as there is, so far as I know, no 
hypnotist in Cabbage Centre, we shall have to 
wait. 

MATILDA. My dear Greeley, I have 
hypnotised for years— ever since I began post- 
graduate work, in fact. 

PECKHAM. Really, Matilda? 

MATILDA. Really. What is there strange 
about that? 

20 



PECKHAM. Oh, nothing! Nothing! Only, 
pardon my skepticism, I have little faith in the 
ability of women to hypnotise. You may have 
fancied you succeeded, you know, where you 
really did not succeed. It is, I observe, rather 
easy for women to be— er— taken in. 

MATILDA, (humbly.) I know, Greeley, 
that women are less able than men to recognize 
truth, but I should be glad to give you an example 
of what I think to be my ability to hypnotise. 
Would you be willing I should try on Squash? I 
promise to do her no harm. 

PECKHAM, Certainly, if you wish, but I 
doubt, I most gravely doubt, whether you will be 
able to hypnotise any of my daughters— parti- 
cularly Squash. 

MATILDA. If I succeed in hypnotising 
Squash to your satisfaction, I should like to test 
Von Weiss's theory on all the girls. Should you 
be willing? 

PECKHAM. Entirely; but, as I say, I doubt. 
{going right and calling.) Squash! Squash! 

SQUASH, (outside.) Yes, father. 

PECKHAM. Will you come here a mom- 
ent. (Enter Squash.) Your Aunt Matilda has 
an experiment she wishes to try. She would like 
to attempt to hypnotise you. I have assured her 
that she will almost certainly fail, but she is 
certain of success. Are you willing to lend your- 
self to this experiment? 

SQUASH. Sure. 

MATILDA. Very well, dear. Sit here. 
(She moves a small chair c, seats Squash in it and 

21 



stands in front of her.) Turn the lamp down, 
Greeley. {He does so^ impressed in spite of him- 
self.) Now look at me — slowly— slowly — {busi- 
ness of hypnotism until Squashes head suddenly 
falls back. Matilda looks up and wipes her fore- 
head.) There! 

PECKHAM. {nervously.) I -I still doubt 
whether she is certainly in the hypnotic state. 

MATILDA. Sh! Sh\- {to Squash) Squash, 
can you hear me? 

SQUASH, {dully.) Yes. 

MATILDA. Can you answer questions? 

SQUASH. Yes. 

PECKHAM. {wiping his forehead.) Strange, 
— very uncanny! 

MATILDA, {waving her hand at Peckham 
to be silent.) Listen, Squash. 

SQUASH. I am listening. 

MATILDA. You are not in this room. You 
are in Turnip Street, before the Cabbage Centre 
post office. Are you there? 

SQUASH. Yes. 

MATILDA. What do you see? 

SQUASH. I see men, a group of men. 

MATILDA. What are they doing? 

SQUASH. They are talking. 

MATILDA. Of whom are they talking? 

SQUASH. Of father. 

MATILDA. Can you hear what they say? 

SQUASH, {with an effort.) It is hard— it is 
very hard {sleepily). 

MATILDA, {intensely.) Listen. What do 
they say? 

22 



SQUASH. One says, "Unless Peckham is 
elected this town will go to the dogs." 

PECKHAM, Wonderful! 

SQUASH. Then there is one with a white 
beard. He says — he says — 

MATILDA. What does he say? 

SQUASH, He says, "Within my memory 
there has been no member of the legislature who 
has shown such self-sacrifice and public spirit as 
Horace Greeley Peckham." 

PECKHAM. Marvelous. 

MATILDA. Can you see or hear anything 
else? 

SQUASH. I am tired— but I see a group of 
men. They are shouting, "Peckham! Peckham! 
Hurrah for Peckham!" — I am tired. {She re- 
lapses into sleep.) 

PECKHAM. Extraordinary! Matilda, I am 
entirely convinced. There are the obvious marks 
of truth about these utterances. You have a mar- 
velous power. 

MATILDA. Then if you are convinced, I 
will awake Squash. It is better that she should 
not remain too long in the hypnotic state. {She 
wakes Squash.) 

PECKHAM. She came to very quickly. 

MATILDA. Yes, one of her temperament 
would be likely to. 

SQUASH. Where am I? 

PECKHAM. Here at home, child. Have 
no fear. 

SQUASH. I must have been asleep. 

MATILDA. Now are you willing I should 

23 



attempt a test of Von Weiss's theory. 

PECK HAM, {shaking her hand warmly.) 
Not only willing, my dear Matilda, but anxious. 

MATILDA, (going to the door and calling.) 
Parsley! 

PARSLEY. Yes, auntie. 

MATILDA. Come in here, dear. (She 
comes in.) My dear, you know that I wouldn't 
harm you, don't you? 

PARSLEY. Why, of course, auntie. 

MATILDA. Then will you let me try to 
hypnotise you? It's for a little experiment. 

PARSLEY. Why, of course, auntie, if you 

can. 

MATILDA. I'll try. Sit here, dear. {She 

places her in the chair c. and hypnotises her. Af- 
ter the preliminary passes, Parsley falls asleep.) 
She's under the influence. Parsley, can you hear 

me? 

PARSLEY. Yes, auntie, I hear you. 

MATILDA. Then listen. What is your 
name? 

PARSLEY. Parsley Peckham. 

MATILDA. Parsley, Parsley. Don't for- 
get. Parsley, you are no longer twenty-one; you 
are thirty years old. 

PARSLEY. I am thirty years old. {long 
pause.) 

PECKHAM. You see, nothing comes of it. 
The theory is false. 

MATILDA. Wait. 

PARSLEY, {rising up suddenly and speak- 
ing as if in her sleep.) The platter, where is the 
platter? {Matilda goes swiftly left and comes back 

24 



with a large platter which she places on the floor 
c. Parsley immediately throws herself down on the 
floor and twines herself about the platter.) 

PECK HAM. Why, why -what is the child 
doing;? 

MATILDA. Her name is working as it will 
when she is older. She is Parsley, so she's 
wreathing herself about the platter. The habit 
will, of course, become more pronounced when 
she reaches middle age. It will be very disagree- 
able for you when you have guests at dinner. It 
will also make it rather hard to serve, I fear. 

PECKHAM, Dear! Dear! {Matilda moves 
the platter to one side and goes over r. Parsley 
continues to embrace the dish.) 

MATILDA, (calling.) Green- Peas. 

GREEN -PEAS, (outside.) Yes, auntie. 

MATILDA. Come in here, please. (Enter 
Green- Peas.) Green- Peas, I wish to try a little 
experiment with you. You're not afraid? 

GREEN-PEAS. No, auntie. 

MATILDA. Then sit down here. (She 
does so. Same business as with Parsley. She 
falls asleep.) Can you hear me? 

GREEN-PEAS. Yes, I hear you. 

MATILDA. What is your name? 

GREEN-PEAS. Green-Peas Peckham. 

MATILDA. Green-Peas. — Don't forget. 
Green- Peas, you are not twenty; you are thirty 
years old. 

GREEN-PEAS. I am thirty years old. (Sil- 
ence for a while.) 

PECKHAM. Matilda, I am really perturbed. 

25 



1 half think it would be better to give the baby 
another name from that I had in mind. 

MATILDA. Sh! 

GREEN- PEAS, (suddenly springing to her 
feet.) A fork! A fork! {Peckham starts to his 
feet apprehensively.) 

MATILDA, (producing one.) Here it is. 
{Green- Peas makes at it in an attempt to impale 
herself.) 

PECKHAM. What, oh what is she doing! 

MATILDA. Her name is working. Green- 
Peas! She is endeavoring to impale herself on 
this fork. 

PECKHAM, {wiping his forehead.) Oh, 
this is terrible! 

MATILDA. Well, at least we can see that 
she has been well brought up; she didn't demand 
a knife. {She puts the fork on one side of the 
stage. Green-Peas rolls toward it.) See her roll. 
(She goes r.) Asparagus! 

ASPARAGUS. Yes, auntie. 

MATILDA. Come here, dear. {Enter As- 
paragus.) Sit down here, my dear. I wish to 
try a little experiment with you. 

ASPARAGUS. Yes, auntie, but what in the 
world are Green- Peas and Parsley doing? 

MATILDA. Never mind, dear.( Same busi- 
ness of hypnotism.) Can you hear me? 

ASPARAGUS. Yes. 

MATILDA. What is your name? 

ASPARAGUS. Asparagus Peckham. 

MATILDA. Asparagus, Asparagus! Don't 
forget! Asparagus, you are not eighteen; you 

26 



are thirty years old. 

ASPARAGUS. I am thirty years old. 
{Pause.) 

PECKHAM. This is heart-rending. I shall 
name the baby John. 

ASPARAGUS, (suddenly leaping up.) Toast! 
Toast! (Matilda brings a large piece of toast 
from l.) 

MATILDA. Here it is. (She places it on 
the floor c. Asparagus throws herself on it.) You 
see, — asparagus on toast. It will make toast an 
imposibility in your household. 

PECKHAM. (in despair.) Horrible! Hor- 
rible! And I was always so fond of toast! {Ma- 
tilda removes the toast and Asparagus to one side.) 

MATILDA. There is one more. Squash, 
come here. 

SQUASH. Auntie, I'm scared. 

MATILDA. Nonsense, child. 

PECKHAM. Matilda, it is enough! It is 
enough! I am convinced. 

MATILDA. No, let us finish. Squash, sit 
down. (Same business of hypnotism.) Can you 
hear me? 

SQUASH. Yes. 

MATILDA. Then listen. Your name is 
Squash. 

SQUASH. My name is Squash. 

MATILDA. And you are thirty years old. 

SQUASH. I am thirty years old. (Pause.) 

PECKHAM. Matilda, this is awful. I am 
heart-broken. {Helen starts to go to him but Ma- 
tilda motions her back. Squash jumps up and 

11 



presses herself violently against the wall.) 

PECK HAM. (m terror.) Matilda, what is 
she doing? 

MATILDA, (calmly.) She is squashing 
herself against the wall. The habit will grow on 
her, of course. At thirty this will suffice her, but 
at forty she will throw herself beneath railway 
trains. 

PECKHAM, Oh! This is fearful! I have 
erred, Matilda, I have erred grievously in giving 
my daughters such names. My boy I can still 
save; he shall be named John. But what can I 
do for my unfortunate daughters? — Nothing! 
Nothing! Too late! (He hides his head in his 
hands and sobs. Helen goes over by him and puts 
her hand on his shoulder.) 

HELEN, (to Matilda.) I think you're cruel, 
Matilda. 

MATILDA. No, it is not too late, Greeley. 
The girls can still be rechristened. In their normal 
state, of course, it would be impossible, but now 
in their hypnotic condition they can be given new 
names and made to forget their old ones. 

PECKHAM. {springing up.) Matilda, if 
you can do this I will owe you a debt of gratitude 
I can never repay. Can you do it? 

MATILDA. I can, and I will. 

PECKHAM. (brokenly.) Thank you, Ma- 
tilda. 

MATILDA, (calling.) Asparagus, Parsley, 
Green-Peas, Squash, come here! (They all come 
^nd stand in line.) Can you hear me? 

THE GIRLS. We hear you. 

28 



MATILDA. Listen, Parsley, your name is 
no longer Parsley; it is Jane, Jane. When you 
awake you will forget that you were ever called 
Parsley. 

PARSLEY. My name is Jane. I shall for- 
get that I was Parsley. 

MATILDA. Green-Peas, your name is not 
Green-Peas; it is Mary. When you wake up you 
will forget that your name was ever Green-Peas. 

GREEN-PEAS. My name is Mary. 

MATILDA. Asparagus, your name is not 
Asparagus. It has never been Asparagus. It is 
Ruth. 

ASPARAGUS. My name is not Asparagus; 
it is Ruth. 

MATILDA. Squash, your name is Carrie. 

SQUASH. My name is Carrie. {Matilda 
wakes them up one by one.) 

PARSLEY. {looking about her.) Why, 
Squash, what are we all doing here? 

SQUASH. Why, Parsley, you queer girl, 
why do you call me Squash when you know my 
name is Carrie? 

PARSLEY. Carrie! But why do you call 
me Parsley when my name is Jane? {The others 
chat among themselves.) 

PECKHAM. Amazing! Most amazing! 
Matilda you are a wonderful woman! 

MATILDA. {aside.) I begin to think so 
myself. {Enter Jenny stumbling, r.) 

JENNY. If you please, mum, if you please, 
sir, my young man, the butcher's apprentice— 

29 



MATILDA. What's happened to him? 
He's not been run over? 

JENNY. No'm, there ain't nobody as I 
knows on ever been run over in Cabbage Centre. 

MATILDA. I can understand that. Go 
on — your young man — 

JENNY. My young man just come around 
to the back door and he says as how Mr. Peck- 
ham's elected. 

EVERYONE. Hurrah! {They all gather 
around Peckham and congratulate him. He adopts 
an attitude.) 

PECKHAM. Thank you, Matilda, for your 
enthusiasm. Thank you, Helen. Thank you, 
children. I can only say that I shall try to do 
my duty. 

MATILDA. One should never try to do his 
duty, Greeley. The danger that he might succeed 
is too great. {They all line up and begin to sing. 
Tune, ^^ America.'') 

SQUASH. The name of Squash I wore. 

ALL. {shouting.) No more! 

ASPARAGUS. Asparagus I bore. 

ALL. {shouting.) But swore! 

GREEN-PEAS. Green-Peas was mine. 

ALL. But auntie, lovely crayture 

Has changed these names of nature 
And father's in the legislature 
Where he will shine. 

Curtain. 



30 



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